


Truth No. 2

by UNHhhh



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Breakup Sex, F/F, Revenge Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 04:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13895910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UNHhhh/pseuds/UNHhhh
Summary: The more Katya thinks about it, the more she regrets giving up their relationship without a fight. Her mind is pathetic and jealous and maybe she wasn’t so sure they had exhausted all of their options before Trixie screamed loud enough for the neighbors to hear. There was nothing keeping her from making the case that they needed to work harder. She just didn’t do it.Her smirk dies and she finds herself staring at Trixie again, watching her twist and shimmy to the music that has always suited her better. She looks careless in the lights, between the intermediate fog machines and stumbling people. Katya wants to stop looking. Katya wants to go back to Alaska’s and sink into the mattress, feel her tailbone scraping the hardwood floor.





	Truth No. 2

Katya is buzzed. 

 

It’s been months since she’s had a proper drink, and even longer since her last night out. She finds herself more evenings than not twisting her body to wordless music, completely sober yet seemingly more drunk than she ever has been in public. She doesn’t consider herself one for partying, even in college, when the expectation was to spend as much time on a bottle as her studies. 

 

Nothing brings her quite the same amount of empty satisfaction as dancing in a sweaty crowd to music she’s only half familiar with, spilling expensive alcohol on her clothes and going deaf by morning. The tinnitus is never worth it, even if she wakes up next to a distant-voiced woman asking about brunch.

 

Tonight is some sort of exception Katya hasn’t quite figured out yet. As she sips her mixed drink Alaska handed her before bounding off towards the dance floor, she tries to psychoanalyze herself- admittedly the last thing she should be doing. Katya knows breakups do weird things to people, even two months down the line, and she’s sure her flippant acceptance of a Saturday night romp at whatever club the gay scene has deemed haute is rooted in recent events of the same nature.

 

Katya doesn’t want to think about it any harder than that.

 

The breakup was clean; it was brisk, professional, even. She and Trixie had deemed their relationship irreparable after months of trying to make it work in every single way possible short of the atomic dream. 

 

Katya can still remember the night they called it vividly: unsatisfying sex up against the washing machine after they had argued about proper towel folding technique for the hundredth time in two years, and instead of saying her name, Trixie moaned, “Give me your house key,” as she came the hardest Katya had ever seen. She thought Trixie’s eyes were going to get stuck that way; she thought she’d have to amputate her fingers for how hard Trixie squeezed them.

 

Two years of hard work over just as fast as the spin cycle Trixie had been pressed against. Katya had split her nail removing the key from its ring and then spent the next two weeks on the couch, staring up at the popcorn ceiling for hours on end, praying that one of her friends would meet a similar end and lessen the burden of an entire apartment’s worth of rent on her.

 

She found solace in Alaska’s spare bedroom, amongst her ridiculous amount of wigs and drag accoutrements. On an air mattress that deflates every third night, Katya sleeps and dreams of veiled figures fucking in strange positions, of cooking in her own kitchen, of a fat ass sat on her face and then, finally, of nothing at all.

 

Her job teaching Kindergarteners the joy of painting was the only thing that had kept her from going insane, and she thinks now that maybe that’s a sign the breakup wasn’t as clean as she originally thought. After all, it’s been two months, and she’s sitting here at the bar nursing her drink and watching Trixie dance at the edge of the crowd with Kim.

 

Katya doesn’t think Trixie can see her. She hopes she can’t; she wants to figure out her own mind before she has to communicate with hers. And it’s strange that Trixie is here on a Saturday night anyway, especially when her shows at Roy’s never end until midnight, and it’s barely past eleven. She must be taking this as hard as Katya.

 

Though from the looks of it, Trixie seems right at home with everyone else. The undulating crowd takes her in every few songs, people circle around her and holler good-naturedly as she shows off her dance moves, and then they move on to the next dancer, leaving Trixie in the dust laughing so hard she almost falls over.

 

Nobody is sober. Katya isn’t surprised at how the flashing lights reveal dead eyes and sleepy smilest. The purples and pinks turn everyone sleazy, and it makes her feel better about her lascivious gaze. Katya wonders if this is just a front for Trixie; she’s a good liar, and she hates to let down her guard.

 

Her mind briefly flits to a scene where, in her depression over the breakup, Trixie has lost everything, dissolved into a sobbing mess surrounded by her long blonde hair and Kim’s soft arms against the hardwood floor. Or, even better, Trixie utterly alone, staring out the window of her penthouse, her parents’ money keeping her alive but not fulfilled, her gigs pointless and forgotten in her crippling sadness.

 

Katya smirks and throws back her drink at that. In a passing wave of sobriety spurred on by the acrid gin in the back of her throat, she remembers she’s the one crying and utterly alone.

 

The more Katya thinks about it, the more she regrets giving up their relationship without a fight. Her mind is pathetic and jealous and maybe she wasn’t so sure they had exhausted all of their options before Trixie screamed loud enough for the neighbors to hear. There was nothing keeping her from making the case that they needed to work harder. She just didn’t do it.

 

Her smirk dies and she finds herself staring at Trixie again, watching her twist and shimmy to the music that has always suited her better. She looks careless in the lights, between the intermediate fog machines and stumbling people. Katya wants to stop looking. Katya wants to go back to Alaska’s and sink into the mattress, feel her tailbone scraping the hardwood floor.

 

Trixie’s ass seems fatter than Katya remembers, her waist smaller, crammed into some purple pleather getup that looks vacuuformed to her body. Even from fifty feet away and perched on a barstool Katya can see her calves flex as she dances effortlessly in her heels.

 

Alaska stalks through the dancing mass serenely and it pulls Katya from her gaze. She’s ethereal, her hair finer and lighter and longer than anyone else’s, her dress more expensive and her heels higher. The embodiment of material success, the lubricious drag queen good enough to get on a TV show twice and win the second time around- her best friend. Katya is endlessly proud of her, brags on her behalf whenever she gets a chance, tells her class about the tall woman with stilts for shoes when the kids crave inspiration, tempera paint dripping from their fingers.

 

Katya watches as Alaska slithers her arms up and dances, pressed up against no one, in need of no applause but earning more than anyone else in the club. The crowd circles around her and cheers her on, and she ignores every single one of them, as if she’s in another universe entirely. Katya can feel the bass of the music thumping in her chest, Alaska’s tiny jerks of her chin matching the beat perfectly. 

 

When Katya’s eyes flick back to the hand prying the empty glass from her own grip, her eyelids close involuntarily.

 

“Thirsty?”

 

Katya opens her eyes and Trixie stands before her, poised with both of their empty glasses in her hands. Her dress has a heart cutout between her breasts, exposing the cleft of skin, tits pressed up tight against each other. She’s not wearing a bra.

 

Trixie’s laugh rings clear over the din and the chorus looping against a staccato background, and Katya blinks and looks up at her face. 

 

She makes no work of attempting to hide her triumph. Her smile is broad, framed by cherry lips, tongue peeking out. Her eyes are as piercing as ever, the deep brown somehow standing out against mountains of fake lashes. Katya remembers how long it takes her to get them right and she wants to gag. All those accumulated hours wasted, tightening her watch or staring blankly at reruns on Bravo.

 

Suddenly, Trixie’s big smile isn’t as sexy as it once was, and Katya feels part of herself harden with the realization that  _ she isn’t her problem tonight _ .

 

That’s not to say she doesn’t want her to be her problem, though.

 

Katya smiles right back, just as haughtily, and nods once in reply. Trixie’s smile widens to display all her teeth and she turns to deposit the glasses on the bar. 

 

Even on the stool, Katya is still shorter than her. She sits up a little higher, drums her finger tips in mock boredom on the lacquered counter and finds the feeling in her throat that signifies a voice loud enough to speak in the chaotic club.

 

“You buying?”

 

“You’re the top.”

 

“You’re the one who asked.”

 

Trixie’s smile falters a little and she scoffs. She stares Katya down, waiting for the punchline. 

 

When it doesn’t come, Trixie’s lips firm and she plunges her thumb and index finger into the heart cutout. She digs around for a moment and emerges with her debit card.

 

Katya sees in the short second it takes for Trixie to pass it to the bartender that she hasn’t ordered a new one. The photo of them on vacation in Italy for Trixie’s twenty-eighth birthday flashes in the neon, two big smiles and bigger hair, frizzy in the heat. She can feel her heart dropping into her ass and her fingers stop drumming abruptly. 

 

Trixie doesn’t look at the card, her head stock-still as she stares too hard at the bottles of alcohol lining the back of the bar. Katya can see a blush creeping up on her face and she knows it’s because Trixie’s embarrassed, or pissed, or horny- probably all three.

 

She can’t make out what Trixie’s ordering, but she holds up two fingers and Katya hopes against hope she isn’t about to have to throw back a Sex On The Beach on her journey to drunkenness. Her night is chaotic enough without that much coconut rum flowing through her bloodstream.

 

_ What are you thinking _ revolves around her head, matching the music beat for beat. Katya doesn’t quite know what it is she’s thinking, or if she’s even thinking at all- old habits die hard, and accepting a drink from her ex girlfriend feels like one of the easiest decisions she’s had to make in weeks. She wishes she could be the type of ex to walk out completely, with no strings attached, no second glances or thoughts, but she isn’t.  _ What ifs _ are her nightly mantra.

 

When two dark drinks appear, Katya breathes a sigh of relief and takes one gratefully from Trixie, who’s giving her a benevolent look that annoys Katya and turns her on at the same time.

 

“Whiskey sour for the most sour person in this club!” Trixie smiles cheekily.

 

“You can still turn that around, you know, the night is young!” Katya volleys, and Trixie’s shoulders jump in a silent laugh before she takes a large swallow of her drink. Satisfied with her ability to communicate, Katya follows her lead.

 

“So why are you here alone?”

 

Trixie has to yell for Katya to hear and she wishes she wouldn’t- the question of being alone in a crowded club sends a jolt of embarrassment down her spine.

 

“I’m not. Alaska is here...somewhere.”

 

They both look out into the crowd and easily spot Alaska’s silken hair flowing across the dancefloor. Trixie turns back to look at Katya with tilted brows and squinting eyes- Katya knows this as her faux sympathetic face and braces herself.

 

“I don’t know why you’re friends with her.”

 

Katya eyes her over the rim of her glass, watching as Trixie’s eyes float across the crowd behind her. She doesn’t look drunk at all, and her demeanor seems to sharpen with her sips. Katya keeps up with her silently, and feels the buzzing in her toes begin. 

 

Trixie moves in close. Her hair, wavy and a little tangled, dips over Katya’s chest and she shivers a little and immediately curses herself for it. She feels Trixie huff against the shell of her ear and clenches her thighs together. 

 

“What are you thinking about?” She asks. Trixie’s voice is lilted and innocent.

 

“The probability that you’re here at the same time as me, especially since I know your show shouldn’t be over for another…” Katya flips her wrist over to check the time, Trixie’s hair falling on either side of it. “Forty-five minutes. Break a string?”

 

Trixie breathes another puff of air against the shell of Katya’s ear and she holds her shiver this time. The tingling in her toes travels lightning fast to her crotch, and she crosses her ankles instead.

 

“Roy let me off tonight- his boyfriend’s birthday, they’ve got some sort of special... _ thing _ . Swing dance or whatever, they never left the 90s.”

 

“Oh, not needed, huh?”

 

The knee-jerk reaction Katya expects doesn’t happen, and the air between them turns stale.

 

Trixie leans back and stands at her full height. She looks down her nose at Katya, the playfulness in her eyes almost completely covered by agitation. Katya’s seen her give this same look to others and she’s always pitied them. Trixie gives her a wry smile. 

 

“Yeah- thought I’d try to walk in your shoes for a bit.”

 

It stings, and Katya’s jaw clenches when Trixie grins again. She cuffs Katya’s shoulder lightly and Katya wants to grab her wrist- she doesn’t know what she’d do if she did. Out of all the possibilities that run through her head in a fraction of a second, shoving it between her thighs seems like the best idea.

 

“But hey! What’s up with you?” Trixie tilts her head in feigned interest.

 

“What do you want?”

 

She remembers now- the short bursts of anger between them, the way the puzzle pieces didn’t quite fit together. Katya remembers seeing red, Trixie’s endless barrage of taunts lofted at the bathroom door while Katya tried to drown her out with the shower and obnoxious Russian rap. As clear as day, she remembers it, and she doesn’t want to revisit it.

 

Trixie looks put out, as if Katya has ruined her fun with her blatant remark.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, I saw you dancing with Kim and now you’re here- why?”

 

Katya sets her glass down and crosses her arms tightly. Trixie’s hair is still tucked between them, and she gently tugs it out and smooths it down her front as Katya stares. She’s buying time, and Katya only halfway wants to know why. Whatever is about to come out of her mouth can’t be good.

 

“I saw you, and I wanted to see what’s up. You look really good.”

 

Katya doesn’t have to look down to know she’s pigeon-toed in a display of humility. It’s so out of place in the hedonistic atmosphere Katya almost laughs in her face.

 

“I know I look good, and you’re just as bad of a liar as you’ve ever been. You wanted my attention, probably just because you didn’t want anyone else to have it- so what do you want?”

 

Katya’s eyes are more cutting than the spinning spotlights highlighting Alaska’s dancing form in the crowd- Katya’s attention gets stolen by her for a moment, long enough for Trixie to stomp her foot a little and lean in. She’s embarrassed and agitated as she grabs for the bar, swaying a little from her sudden movement.

 

Trixie leans in again even closer when Katya doesn’t look at her. Her nose bumps against Katya’s ear.

 

“I want you to fuck me.”

 

Katya sits back. She pushes up her square-framed glasses out of habit as she considers Trixie’s admission. Trixie steps back, too, and her face is an even deeper shade of red. Her knees are touching now.

 

Nothing could be more embarrassing for her to admit. Katya knows this; with her near-overflowing levels of pride, Trixie rarely admits she’s wrong or in need.

 

Katya barks out a laugh, then laughs properly, clutching her tiny hip with one hand and the bar with the other. She laughs long and hard, much to Trixie’s disappointment, and she pouts at Katya and stomps her foot again. Katya hears her heel slam against the hardwood this time, and she takes a deep breath to calm herself.

 

“Are you serious?” Katya quirks her brows. Trixie nods. “I don’t think so.”

 

“What-!”

 

“Listen,” Katya postures, digs her heels into the bar in an effort to gain some height on Trixie. “I’m not some toy, okay? You kicked me out, you wanted me gone, and you don’t get to just come calling when you miss me. I’m sorry.”

 

A smile plays at the corners of her mouth, and Trixie’s mouth twitches downward.

 

“But I-”

 

“ _ No _ .” Katya stands finally and looks up at Trixie.She thinks she can make out a shred of honesty in her eyes. The whiskey sour deadens her sympathy.

 

“Can you just give me one second to explain myself?” She asks so quietly Katya almost can’t even hear her.

 

She knows what’s about to come out of her mouth. Two years of arguing with Trixie have taught her that she’s good at begging, and somehow she always makes a point that’s grounded in some kernel of truth. It’s usually what leads Katya to cave; that, and the way her lips look when she pouts particularly hard.

 

Despite the years of experience, Katya rolls her eyes and assents to Trixie’s explanation. It comes faster than the time her brain takes to comprehend what Trixie actually asked.

 

Trixie licks her lips and bends down a little so Katya can hear her. She grips the sleeve of Katya’s flannel between two fingers, as if she’s almost too shy to touch her.

 

“I miss you, okay? It’s been two months, two fucking awful months where I’ve barely been able to sleep in our bed. I did laundry yesterday and I found your stupid crew socks and instead of throwing them away I fucking slept with them under my pillow.”

 

Katya hates the feeling brewing in her gut, something akin to regret and anxiety mixed with whiskey. If only Trixie wasn’t so convincing; if only Katya didn’t miss her, too. Katya closes her eyes and swallows down the mouthful of words she could shut the conversation down with. Trixie hasn’t stopped talking.

 

“I know I should probably be over you more than I am, but...I’m not. And I know you aren’t either- Alaska is our mutual friend, remember?”

 

Fuck Alaska and her loquacious nature, slow as honey.

 

Katya feels goosebumps racing up her arms. Trixie’s perfume mingles with the whiskey on her tongue as she laces the words into Katya’s ear. It’s becoming entirely too hot in the club, the lights are all spinning wildly, illuminating Trixie’s mass of hair in front of Katya’s face every other second.

 

“And I just...want you. I need you. And that’s  _ me _ saying that- you know I’m only the second-most prideful person in this club because Alaska is here, too. I’m putting my pride aside to say that I really, more than anything, need you to take me home and fuck me.”

 

Trixie pulls back, her grip on Katya’s sleeve a little stronger. Katya can tell by the feeling of her face losing its firmness that Trixie’s won. With such a pitiful argument, too.

 

For a moment, it’s like nothing has changed. It feels like they’re at the club together, roleplaying some fucked up situation, the look of submission in Trixie’s eyes more of an act than the truth.

 

Katya closes her eyes and thinks about the consequences. She thinks about how sore her pussy is for Trixie’s touch, how wet she is just from watching her dance, nevermind her voice and unwinding composure. She wants to walk away, to turn in her number at the coat check and Uber home, get off in the dark and shiver herself to sleep. Trixie’s sweet breath on her face and her fingers burning against the skin underneath her sleeve keeps her from doing it.

 

The consequences could be: Katya crying as she comes; Trixie kicking her out after  _ she _ comes and before Katya gets the chance; Trixie deciding against her request halfway there and literally kicking Katya to the curb; Katya waking up in Trixie’s bed.

 

Katya rolls her eyes and reaches for her drink, throws the rest back and jerks her head towards the exit, cheeks full of whiskey.

 

She can hear Trixie squeal as she leads her towards the front door. Her feet take her past crowds of dancing and stumbling people, barely clothed even though it’s December in Chicago. Trixie tugs her back to wave goodbye to Kim, and Alaska makes eye contact with Katya over the crowd, a smile playing across her impossibly huge lips. Then it hits her.

 

Everyone knew. Everyone expected Katya to cave and give Trixie what she wants- and no one came to her rescue. She shakes her head a little at the thought, but she isn’t the least surprised- Trixie’s always gotten what she wants.

 

She’s still babbling to Kim, so Katya yanks on Trixie’s hand and she falls against her back. Her breasts press against Katya’s shoulder blades and Katya bites back a moan at Trixie’s fingers gripping her bicep.

 

“Fuck, Katya.”

 

Feet from the exit, something in Katya’s mind switches and she takes a sharp turn to the right. She pushes through double doors leading to the back of the club, pulls Trixie down the dimly lit hallway that holds the bathrooms and, behind another set of double doors, dressing rooms for the entertainment. Trixie stumbles at the sudden change in direction and she catches herself, practically running to keep up with Katya’s brisk pace.

 

Being Alaska’s friend has its perks, namely the ability to go backstage at any time without question, and Katya nods sharply at the guard standing on the other side of the second set of doors before making another turn.

 

“What the fuck, Katya-”

 

She jerks down on the handle to the prop closet and pulls Trixie in with her.

 

Katya presses her up against the door and her lips press even harder against hers. Her fingers find the lock on the handle, the light switch, and then the sticky, slick material wrapped around Trixie’s waist. She grips her, her hands cupping her curves with a muscle memory she’d thought she’d forgotten. 

 

Trixie’s mouth responds to hers with the same memory, her head tilted just right. She kicks off her heels and evens their height by a few inches, and her hands dig into Katya’s kinky, unruly hair. They catch against the bobby pin holding back her poor excuse for a self-given bang and Katya hisses.

 

“Ow.”

 

“Why the fuck did you bring me here?” Trixie pants and leans back. Her pupils are blown out already; Katya has half a mind to leave her here, desperately fucking herself, chasing the scent of Katya’s cologne and the feeling of her kiss.

 

Her lipstick is already ruined, smeared under her nose, and, Katya is sure, all over her own mouth. Trixie digs her fingers into Katya’s hair tighter when she doesn’t answer and Katya pinches her waist.

 

“Ow!”

 

“Don’t pull my hair!”

 

“Don’t fuck me in a prop closet!”

 

“Beggars can’t be choosers, baby,” Katya smirks, and Trixie licks her lips and looks away. Her lids flutter with the name, and Katya ticks another win for herself.

 

“‘M not a beggar…”

 

“I highly disagree.”

 

“Just shove your fingers inside me already.”

 

Katya’s smirk grows at the annoyance in Trixie’s voice, and her hands follow the swell of her hips and thighs to the hem of her dress. She tucks her fingers underneath and pulls up mere inches, exposing Trixie’s pink mesh underwear.

 

“Probably didn’t even need to do that,” Katya drops the hem where the elastic of Trixie’s underwear bites into the fat on her hips. “Dress was so fuckin’ short. Hope you didn’t have to bend over.”

 

“Why are you being so mean,” Trixie breathes. Her head rests against the door as if she’s spent already. Katya looks up at her eyes screwed shut and lips swollen and wants to laugh.

 

“Because you like it,” She says. Trixie whines.

 

Katya turns her attention back to her dress and poor excuse for underwear. She gropes the pink triangle of fabric, smaller than the neat triangle of hair it covers. Her fingers bump Trixie’s thighs, slick with sweat, and the cleft of her folds.

 

“And you kind of deserve it,” Katya continues casually as she runs her blunt fingernails over the fabric. “Fucking everything up the way you did.”

 

Trixie growls and pulls Katya into a frustrated kiss. Katya pulls on the stretchy material and lets it snap back onto Trixie’s sensitive skin and Trixie bites her lip in return, hard enough to make Katya grunt.

 

“Cunt.” Trixie hisses.

 

The line where Katya considered being nice to her ex, taking her back to her house and fucking her slow and smooth in her big bed has been crossed. 

 

Katya pulls back again and glares at her before yanking her dress up to her waist and tearing at the fabric of her underwear, ripping the thin elastic away from the mesh. She tugs at the material and it grudgingly slips from between her thighs, making Trixie whine loudly.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Katya says sternly, tugging at the last bit of wet fabric between her legs. She lets it fall onto the floor unceremoniously. “If they hear us I’m never touching you again.”

 

“Does that mean you’re going to fuck me more?” Trixie breathes, instantly quieter.

 

“You wish. Spread ‘em.” Katya slaps the outsides of Trixie’s thighs and Trixie jumps and whines into her hand as she widens her stance.

 

Katya brings her hand between her legs and bites back her own moan at how wet Trixie is. Her smell is enough to practically send Katya through the roof, and she fights the urge to shove three fingers inside of her. Instead, she rubs her with a flat hand, bringing it up and over her mound gently.

 

Trixie leans forward and rests her head on Katya’s shoulder. She grips her belt loops and bucks at Katya’s hand sliding back and forth, her fingers just barely slipping between her folds. She’s burning hot beneath Katya’s touch, hitching her hips down in effort to slip Katya’s fingers inside of her.

 

“How do you want it,” Katya leans down and whispers into her ear. Trixie whimpers and shakes her head against her shoulder.

 

“Like this, please, just fucking...fuck me, please.”

 

“Oh, you want me to watch you while I fuck you?” Katya smirks, and Trixie nods. “How vain.”

 

Katya removes her hand from between Trixie’s trembling thighs and pulls her by the arms across the small closet. It’s framed on three sides by metal shelves filled with random accessories and props, things she’s never seen used once in all her years of drag show attendance. 

 

Trixie grunts and stumbles across the floor, and Katya plants the palms of Trixie’s hands onto a shelf that’s shoulder-high. 

 

“Face the wall, cover your mouth, bend over, spread your legs,” She orders.

 

She steps back to watch Trixie obey her, crossing her arms with satisfaction when she does it in record time. Not once in their relationship did Trixie assume any position without at least a retort or a compromise. Katya likes her doing what she says without complaint. Her smirk falls with the movement of her eyes down Trixie’s body.

 

Trixie’s ass is gigantic- Katya swears it’s bigger than it was before they broke up- and it dimples in the yellow overhead light. Katya grips it with her hands roughly, tugs at her soft, huge cheeks and exposes her completely- she shivers at the cold air hitting her wetness that’s spread everywhere between her legs.

 

Katya leans over Trixie, her small chest resting against her back, and hovers her hand over Trixie’s pussy.

 

“Are you sure?” She taunts. She can hear Trixie’s whine muffled by her arm and her hair moving against the shelf above her head as she nods. “Well, then.”

 

Katya slides two fingers between her folds and they drag in her wetness, up towards her clit, where she circles them slowly. She runs her other hand up Trixie’s side and slips it into the cutout of her dress, finds her nipple and pinches it. 

 

Trixie sticks her ass out and stands on her toes. She maneuvers her hips, working them to get Katya’s fingers inside of her, and Katya follows her movements, keeping her fingers circling slowly.

 

“You’re not going to get what you want until I’m ready to give it to you,” Katya whispers. “You can try, though.”

 

Katya stills her fingers and lets Trixie buck into them, bumping against her clit roughly and without rhythm. She works against them and gasps into her arm. Katya pinches her nipple harder and Trixie squeals. 

 

The sound of people walking down the hallway freezes them to the spot. Neither of them breathe; Katya can feel Trixie’s wetness slipping down her fingers and the back of her hand, and her eyes roll back. She moves her fingers back and slides two into Trixie without thought and pumps her slowly as the footsteps near the closet. 

 

She can hear Trixie whispering screams into her arm, can feel her shaking beneath her hand gripping her chest. She slides her hand out from her dress and digs her fingers into her hair, tugs at it until her head is pulled back all the way and her shuddering breaths are exposed to the air.

 

“Be fucking quiet,” Katya breathes. 

 

The sound of Katya’s fingers fucking into Trixie seems impossibly loud as the footsteps pass the front of the door, and Katya wonders if they can hear how wet she is, how eagerly her pussy sucks against fingers that have worked it so well for so long. She curls them and tugs at Trixie as she pulls them out and Trixie’s knees buckle a little; Katya holds her up by her hair and Trixie regains her composure, surprisingly silent.

 

Katya sighs in relief when the steps and tittering voices disappear behind a door further down the hallway and slips in a third finger before picking up her pace.

 

“Oh my God,” Trixie breathes. Katya looks up from her hand and sees Trixie’s digging into the compact cardboard shelves, the nails that match her lipstick threatening to break with the force. Katya fucks her even faster, and Trixie heats up against her fingers, grows wetter with every passing second. 

 

She lets go of the grip on her hair and backs her up a few steps by her shoulder, then shoves her torso one shelf lower. Trixie’s bent straight over and she buries her face into her arm again without demand. It makes Katya moan quietly to herself, and she feels her nipples harden painfully against her flannel. 

 

Katya twists her fingers inside Trixie and finds her g-spot. She fills her up completely, fucking her deep and hard, and she can feel Trixie swelling up around her. She won’t last much longer; her thighs are shaking so much she can barely stand, and she keeps falling back onto her heels before pressing back up on her toes over and over again.

 

Katya sees it from another perspective for a brief moment, like a near-death experience, watching her fingers appear and disappear with full force into Trixie, how her ass jiggles with it, their hair bouncing wildly with the movements. She can see with x-ray vision how her own underwear is soaked with her wetness, and she knows she’s going to come soon.

 

Trixie lifts her head enough to whisper, “Make me come, fuck me.” over and over. Katya’s arm aches with the angle and the pressure, but she presses on, the fat on the palm of her hand slapping against Trixie’s pussy. Fucking her is as natural as breathing, satisfies the most basic shred of humanity inside her. Feeling Trixie’s wetness sliding down her wrist only manages to center Katya, ease the pressure that’s been building up behind her eyes for two months.

 

When she hears Trixie’s hiccuping and feels her clenching her fingers, Katya pushes Trixie’s head back down onto the shelf. 

 

“Be good.” Katya whispers. Trixie nods fervently.

 

Katya slips her fingers out before Trixie can come, wipes them on her flannel, and leaves.

 

The guard smirks at Katya as she passes back through the double doors, and Katya grins right back at him. Trixie’s lipstick is waxy on her mouth and chin. She won’t wipe it off before she reaches coat check, before she takes the bus home. The smile on her face is wide, shining and genuine.

 

Only once Katya’s pulled her long johns on and tied her hair back will she look at herself in the mirror and wipe off every last trace.

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
